Shane Richardson rings in changes that haul South Sydney up from death watch to top notch

The Fijian island of Tokoriki is the kind of idyllic destination where holidaymakers go for peace and quiet, to forget for a week or two the pressures of the rat race back home.

The luxurious resort is owned by Sydney entrepreneur Andrew Turnbull, who made a mint out of importing lollies, and with white sandy beaches, inviting turquoise water and, until recently, no phone reception the lure is unmistakable.

Little wonder, then, that Shane Richardson, chief executive of the South Sydney Rabbitohs, has been going there for years.

There are few greater comforts after another hectic NRL season than dropping his bags in the room, switching the mobile off and kicking back by the pool.

"On the island you couldn't get mobile phone service. [You can now - for 10 years I've been going there] So the only way you could get service was to climb this mountain in the middle of the island," said Richardson, who acknowledged his physique does not lend itself to conquering such obstacles.

"So I had to climb up the mountain every three hours to see whether or not I had any messages from the Juniors because if they hadn't given us the money we were f---ed.

"My wife looked at me the first two times and I thought, 'I'm not doing this again' , but I did and on the fourth time there was a message from Keith McCraw saying, 'We're gonna do it, Richo.' "

It was those kind of close calls and desperate wheeling and dealing that marked the early stages of Richardson's stewardship of Souths, soon after their re-entry to the competition in 2002 and before Russell Crowe and Peter Holmes a Court provided relief with their 75 per cent buyout in 2006.

A decade on from the mountain-climbing episode and with Souths having climbed one of their own to reach Sunday's grand final, the significance of those difficult days keeping the club afloat is as clear today as it was then.

Richardson said Souths survived his first 12 months only because of that $1 million from the Juniors and another $500,000 loan the Juniors offered the next year.

A meeting with Kerry Stokes in 2004 was also pivotal. The media baron had agreed to sponsor the club for $1 million a season for three years after they returned from NRL exile but he had an option on the third year and wasn't convinced it was money well spent.

So, accompanied by Nicholas Pappas, the lawyer who led Souths' Federal Court appeal in 2001 and had become chairman, as well as high-profile supporters Ray Martin and Andrew Denton, Richardson drove over the Harbour Bridge to make their case.

"I knew who I wanted. Maguire has taken us to the next level": Richardson. Photo: Brendan Esposito

"We were turning over $8 million and he was giving us $1 million of it," Richardson said. "He had an option for the third year and I remember going to a pitch at North Sydney to Kerry Stokes and his No.2.

"I was brand new to the job, so Nick was doing the talking. Kerry said, 'You know what, I could have bought a Picasso for the amount of money I've been giving you guys. I not sure why I should give you another $1 million.'

"I hadn't said anything at that stage, so I just said to Kerry, 'I'll tell you why ... because if you don't give it to us we're up shit creek without a paddle'. That's how bad it was."

Richardson knew just how bad only when he got behind the desk for the first time at the club's then dingy Chalmers Street headquarters. They were spending $350,00 under the salary cap but that was the least of their problems.

"When I got here we were a million dollars worse off than what they told me. And I don't think Nick knew," he said. "We were in disarray - we only had nine full-time staff, it was rat-infested and we didn't even have computer screens for everybody.

"It was just a little rabbit warren, really, a quarter of one floor and the lifts didn't work so you had to walk upstairs.

"Every day we couldn't pay the bills, we were 90 days to 120 days behind so I had creditors up me straight away. It was a very, very tough time to just get through the next 12 to 18 months and it was just obvious from the word go that we had to change the structure of the whole club. We had to get investment because we couldn't survive without it."

RICHARDSON was back on Tokoriki in May 2008, this time not giving two hoots about whose calls he was missing. He was not running the club now, with Holmes a Court having taken over himself as managing director.

In the meantime, Richardson had set up his own management company. His phone was running hot - and not just because of potential new clients.

"There was still no mobile service and I get into Nadi airport after the trip and there's 106 calls on my phone," he said. "Most of them were from Russell. He said. 'I need to see you.' "

Crowe flew him to his farm at Nana Glen and told him he wanted him back as CEO, but having poured millions in Souths, he didn't want to put a cent more of his own into the joint.

Richardson and Pappas had staked everything on the actor's takeover with Holmes a Court two years earlier. The day before members voted Richardson celebrated his 50th birthday on a boat on Sydney Harbour, with everyone from friends and family to NRL chief David Gallop present.

Richardson, knowing he had to speak at the historic gathering the next day, didn't even have a drink at his own party, so anxious was he about securing the 75 per cent of votes that were needed.

The ownership change was a huge leap forward for Souths but by the time Richardson turned up at Crowe's farm he knew a new approach was needed.

The club was too reliant on the Juniors and millionaire owners. Richardson's answer was a new business plan: membership.

He freely admits he pinched the concept from the AFL and old English Super League mate Ian Robson, by then at Hawthorn, and friend Chris Green, a mad Richmond fan - "I'm an old dog; I've got no original ideas" - but it proved a masterstroke. By the end of the first year of their membership drive Souths had signed up 14,000 people.

"The Juniors were expecting us to come to them for money and I went and saw them and presented to their board that membership was going to save us. I could just see them looking at me thinking, 'You're kidding, Richo,' " he said.

"Russell didn't believe in membership but I said 'Russell, I'm telling you if we don't go down this road mate we're f---ed' because this is money that will make the difference between a leagues club or not.' I said, 'I think we'll get a million dollars in membership.' "

He asked Crowe to use an annual video address to supporters, which can still be found on YouTube, to ram home the membership message.

"He's in New York at a hotel and I get the video and it virtually says, 'I'm not putting any more money into this place; if you want a club, you need to put the money in,' " Richardson recalls.

"From then on everything we did was members-first. We built this business away from leagues clubs, and we did it ourselves."

On the playing front, the coaching of Michael Maguire and the recruitment of Sam Burgess, Greg Inglis and others has led Souths to the brink of a premiership, but the foundations were laid earlier, when Jason Taylor and then John Lang were at the helm.

Richardson determined that Souths must "keep our kids"; the other objective was that the dead wood at the club - washed-up senior players on long-term contracts - had to go.

"I remember one senior player saying all he was interested in was going away to a Playboy thing in America because that's what he thought (Russell) could organise," he said. "We had to clean that roster out."

In came elder statesmen but "quality human beings" like Roy Asotasi, David Kidwell and Nigel Vagana, and Souths in 2007 made the finals.

Souths would later infamously flirt with Wayne Bennett but after courting Maguire in England Richardson was convinced they had their man.

After three top-four finishes in a row, and now a grand final, he might just be right.

"I knew who I wanted. Maguire has taken us to the next level."

LIKE SO many in the game that takes no prisoners Richardson has a face that's been lived in. A working-class haircut designed in a barbershop, not a salon.

To the outsider he is one of the NRL's most bullish street fighters. That tells only half the story, though. To those close to home there is a much softer side. For evidence, look no further than the retirement press conference last week of modern-day club legend Nathan Merritt.

Richardson, sitting next to the smiling winger, was clearly emotional. "I probably shouldn't be doing this," he answered when asked about the tears welling in his eyes.

He would also be mortified at the thought of being given more than his fair share of the credit for the South Sydney story. He points to other "unsung heroes", like his top lieutenant Joe Kelly, who once governed the books at Roman Abramovich's Chelsea, and ex-commercial head John Richardson, who's just left for a gig at the Art Gallery of NSW. Like Jeremy Monahan, the club's media manager of 13 years, and, of course, Crowe, Holmes a Court and Pappas.

But the satisfaction for Richardson as the grand final nears is immense.

"When I joined Souths I was on the same money I was on at Penrith. I took it on for the challenge," he said.

"If I'd known the challenge was as large as it was I may not have taken the decision but as I look back on it, I'm glad that I did."

Win or lose on Sunday, you know where to find him once the season is over. Just don't expect him to pick up his phone.